


Peter Pan and Wendy Turned Out Fine

by starrywrite



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mitch has an anxiety attack on their flight to Europe, and Scott knows just what to do to calm him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter Pan and Wendy Turned Out Fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitchmitchie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchmitchie/gifts).



> … so won’t you FLLLLLLLYYYYYY WITH ME. 
> 
> ahem. 
> 
> i mean. hello!! wow ok my second scomiche fic and i’m already delving into the world of angst?? who’s surprised?? not me!! haha. so this is for paloma bc its hER BIRTHDAY!!! ahh i rly hope you like this sweetie :’) (and everyone else reading this, i hope you like it as well ahh!!)
> 
> ps: i’ve only been on an airplane twice and neither of those times had any turbulence so i literally had to google what it feels like for this fic lol so i apologize if anything seems inaccurate!!

It’s too early. 

Mitch groans into his cup of coffee as he follows Scott through the airport; for once, they’re not about to miss their flight, but at this point, that’s the price he’d pay for a few more extra minutes of sleep. He keeps his phone at the bottom of his bag because he refuses to look at it because he doesn’t want to be reminded of the time. Plus, it’s way too early for him to be coherent enough to text anyone back anyway. 

But despite being awake at the asscrack of dawn, he feels excitement fluttering in the pit of his tummy. In a couple of hours, he’s going to be in Europe with some of his best friends in the world doing the one thing that he loves more than anything, and he could not be more excited about that. Truth be told it _does_ make being awake at this hour worth it, but he’s too tired to admit that. 

They come to a stop for whatever reason - his eyes aren’t open enough to see what Esther’s doing - so he rests his forehead on Scott’s back, closing his eyes and sighing. He contemplates heading over to the airport Starbucks to get another cup of coffee because one is just not doing the job. 

Scott turns around and Mitch nearly falls forward, but the blond places a tentative hand on his hip to keep him steady. Mitch then proceeds to lean forward yet again, his forehead now resting comfortably on Scott’s chest. “I told you not to stay up so late,” Scott murmurs disapprovingly, his lips twitching as he tries not to laugh at Mitch.

“I didn’t,” Mitch sleepily whines. “Besides, it doesn’t matter how early I went to bed; getting up before the sunrise is brutal no matter what.”

Scott chuckles a little. “Can’t argue with you there,” he says and gives his hip a gentle squeeze. “At least you’ll be able to sleep on the plane.”

Mitch just hums in reply. Flying in an airplane isn’t his favorite means of transportation, but he doesn’t hate it. Maybe if he didn’t spend so much of his time on planes, flying across the country or from one country to the next, he’d actually like it a little bit more. But for the most part, flying isn’t terrible. For the most part. He still can’t deal with turbulence on flights, it’s just not something he can get used to. He blames Kirstie; her ill-timed joke about their plane going down that one time always lurks in the back of his mind whenever anything goes mildly wrong on one of their flights. Of course he’s had so much more positive flight experiences than negative ones, but he still can’t help but to worry himself to the point of an anxiety attack sometimes. 

But, lucky for him, despite how often they cross his mind, those negative experiences rarely happen and their flight experiences as of lately have been going good. Why should today be any different? 

He follows Scott tiredly when they start moving again, and in a blur of sleepy haze and airport security baggage scans, they’re on the plane. Mitch flops down in his seat as soon as he can and Scott sits next to him - just how it should be. He leans to the side, resting his head on Scott’s shoulder and sighing contently. “M’tired,” he mumbles, his voice the slightest bit slurred as he feels himself already being pulled into the land of dreams and unconsciousness. 

Scott places a hand on his knee and gives him a comforting squeeze. Scott was always touching him; holding his hand, patting him on the butt, idly placing a hand on his thigh. Mitch loves it; he loves knowing Scott was always there. “You mean you aren’t even going to drink a glass of airplane wine?” he asks teasingly.

“Too tired to drink,” Mitch mumbles. 

“That’s a first,” Scott comments.

Mitch’s eyes are closed - or else he’d definitely roll them in Scott’s direction - and a small smile twitches at his lips when Scott squeezes his knee again. “Drink a glass for me, yeah?” 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Scott laughs a little. He wraps one of his arms around his little shoulders, holding him close and making sure he’s comfortable, and Mitch is asleep before the plane even takes off. 

* * *

Mitch isn’t sure how long he sleeps for, unfortunately not for the entirety of their ten hour flight like he had hoped he would, but he’s awoken by something cold and wet splashing against his hand.

He flinches, jolting awake almost immediately and Scott is wiping the mess up with the tiniest napkin. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. “The wine spilled.”

Mitch groans quietly, but he isn’t really mad. He’s had worse things spilled on him. “Thanks, butterfingers,” he grumbles.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Scott insists, and his point is proven by the sound of overhead luggage jostling and drinks spilling and small children crying and Mitch’s stomach drops. 

_“Ladies and gentlemen,”_ the pilot’s voice crackles over the speakers. _“Due to some heavy winds, we are experiencing a bit of turbulence. This is nothing to be concerned about…”_ Anything else he says goes deaf on Mitch’s hears because he can’t hear over the sound of his heart pounding. Turbulence had never been his biggest fear, but the prospect of anything going wrong during a flight always gave him the worst anxiety. And right now, as their plane goes up and down and side to side as their pilot tries to nativage with minimal damage, he can feel a ball of anxiety bursting open in his chest. It courses through his veins at top speed, a tightness in his chest making it harder to breathe already. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He squeezes his eyes shut and he curls his hands tightly around the armrests of his seat. His knuckles go white. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Scott reaches for his hand and Mitch damn near jumps out of his skin. “Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry, baby. You okay?”

“Fine,” Mitch says through gritted teeth. He exhales sharply. There’s a tension in his chest that feels like someone had reached inside of him and started squeezing his heart and lungs in an iron fist. 

Scott laces their fingers together, a usual comforting motion causing Mitch slight distress as he once again nearly jumps out of his skin, an apology sliding off of his lips but it can barely be heard over the sound of a baby crying and the drink cart rattling. The plane drops a little and so does Mitch’s stomach. Oh god, he really hopes he isn’t going to be sick. “It’s okay, baby,” Scott kisses his fingers sweetly, each one of his knuckles receiving a soft peck before his lips graze against the back of Mitch’s hand. “I’m sure it’ll all be over in another minute or two, okay?”

_It’s okay, baby._

Mitch can’t stop the whimper from escaping past his lips and he sinks down even lower in his chair. The sound of the baby crying pierces his ears, it sounds louder than it did a moment ago. It meshes with the sound of glasses rattling on the drink cart. Both of those are overpowered by the jostling of the luggage. He exhales sharply again, forcing a breath out.

“It’s okay, Mitchy, it’s okay,” Scott whispers to him, his voice soft and sweet and gentle. He lets go of Mitch’s hand just to wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull him into his side as close as he can, despite the armrest between them. Mitch hides his face in Scott’s shoulder, closing his eyes and whimpering softly again, and Scott whispers, “It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t have to be scared, baby.”

His heart is _pounding_ , beating so hard and fast it feels like it’s going to burst right out of his chest. He brings his hands up and covers his face, groaning a little into his palms. He _hates_ when he gets like this - he hates anxiety, he hates being so terrified, he hates feeling so helpless.

It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t have to be scared, baby. 

“Deep breaths, okay?” Scott tells him, and Mitch nods because he hears him but he just can’t think clearly enough to follow through with the actions of taking a fucking deep breath. He tries though, to humor Scott so he doesn’t worry, and he sputters and coughs a little and it’s all wrong, like he can’t get enough air to pass through his lungs. “Like me, Mitchy, okay?” Scott says, his voice softer than ever, and quiet enough just so he can hear and only him. He takes a deep breath for Mitch to mimic - breathing in, holding it for a second, then exhaling slowly - and it comes so easily to him that Mitch has the nerve to be jealous. He takes Mitch’s hand and places it on his chest, right over his heart. “It’s okay, baby, just relax. It’s okay. Just breathe like me, okay? Feel my heart? Feel how slow it is? Like that okay.” He repeats the mantra over and over for him, and Mitch closes his eyes tightly, trying to focus solely on Scott’s voice and drown out all of the excess noise. He isn’t even sure if the plane is still shaking or if just him whose trembling from head to toe. He can’t tell if the baby stopped crying or if the drink cart stopped rattling or if the luggage above their heads still runs risk of falling over and landing in the aisle. 

_It’s okay, baby, just relax. It’s okay. Just breathe like me, okay? Feel my heart? Feel how slow it is? Like that okay._

“I’m fine,” he chokes out, because his pride is wounded and he feels like shit in more ways than one. “I - I’m fine,” he repeats, his voice faltering slightly and even he doesn’t believe himself. Mitch’s hand curls around the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him tightly. 

“Yeah, you’re fine,” Scott murmurs. Not at all condescendingly or in a way to imply that he doesn’t believe him, but like a gentle reminder that Mitch _is_ going to be fine. His fingers feel featherlike, soft and light, as they trail down his arms and shoulders and back. “You’re fine, Mitchy.”

Mitch nods his head. “I’m fine,” he whispers. Ragged breaths pull at his chest and he feels lightheaded and nauseous, but he’s going to be fine. 

_You’re fine, Mitchy._

* * *

The panic eventually subsides and the pain in Mitch’s chest is gone and he can breathe so much easier now, but a mildly anxious feeling is still lingering in the back of his mind. He feels so run down and exhausted and just so fucking tired, but he can’t fall back to sleep no matter how hard he tries. And there are still several hours left in their flight. 

He stays rooted in his seat, hands still curled around the armrests of his chair much tighter than need bed and his head resting on Scott’s shoulder. And Scott has his head resting comfortably atop of his and a hand wrapped tightly around his own, his thumb rubbing little circles in the back of his hand. He feels hot and sweaty and gross and he doesn’t know how Scott still wants to touch him, but he does. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” Scott asks him softly. Mitch just hums quietly in response, and Scott kisses his temple. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Mitch sighs a little. It doesn’t matter how shitty or anxious he’s feeling, he doesn’t do well with Scott’s sappiness unless he’s got a good buzz going. But regardless, he whispers back, “I love you too.” He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, inhaling Scott’s scent and getting lost in it for a moment, everything and anything that was bothering him prior to this moment now at the very back of his mind. And then, a moment later, he adds even quieter, “Thank you.”

Scott kisses his head again and replies, “You don’t have to thank me, Mitchy.” But he really does, because this isn’t the first time this has happened but every single time it does, Scott knows just what to say and how to calm him down. He’s amazing, to put it simply, and Mitch is so, so damn lucky to have him in his life. 

He releases his tight grip on the armrest and turns his hand upwards to hold Scott’s and he holds it so tightly, because sometimes all Mitch needs is the quiet reassurance that Scott is there and that he isn’t going anywhere. And Scott gets that; he gets that without Mitch even having to say anything. He gives his hand another little squeeze, and even though there are still several hours left in their flight, he doesn’t let go of him until their plane lands.

**Author's Note:**

> i've just posted this fic to wattpad!! you can check it out here: https://www.wattpad.com/188224047-peter-pan-and-wendy-turned-out-fine (my wattpad user is @scomilexxx ^_^)
> 
> i'm also on tumblr! if you'd like to like/reblog this fic you can do so here: http://mermaidmaldonado.tumblr.com/post/119618563155 (or just message me if you wanna talk! i'm @mermaidmaldonado ^_^)


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